


Can't Go Back Now

by thedisgruntledone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: Cullen goes looking for something to read, and winds up getting an eyeful.





	Can't Go Back Now

Cullen heaves a sigh as he pushes away from his desk. It's late; he's exhausted but he knows he won't sleep. He's restless, edgy, his body demanding something that he won't give it. It's going to be a bad night. He sighs again and bows his head, closing his eyes as rubs his fingers against his temples. His head is killing him.

Since he won't be getting any sleep, he might as well do something productive. He stands, gritting his teeth at the dull ache in his muscles, and moves to the bookshelves. He fully intends to get something that they can use to their advantage against Corypheus, some book of strategy that he hasn't already pored over too many times to count, but instead he finds himself searching for his copy of _Hard in Hightown_. Only it's nowhere to be seen.

"Dorian," he mutters with a shake of his head. He'd been poking around his books the other day, claiming he'd already been through everything in the library. Probably he'd taken the book to mock Cullen with later, but perhaps he'd actually wanted to read it. It's better than Cullen thinks that it has any right to be, really, and strangely addictive.

He debates leaving it alone, but now that he doesn't have the thing on hand he wants it more than ever, and better to give into this impulse than any other. Surely he won't disturb anyone at this late hour; the library will probably be empty of anyone until the morning.

Solas is at his desk when he passes through; he does feel a twinge of remorse at that but he's paid no attention as he skirts his way around the room to the stairs. He makes a note to come back another way; he's not incredibly familiar with where most things are around here even now but he's sure that he can find something, even if it means taking longer to get back. Taking longer to get back would probably even be welcome.

The library is dark and deserted, and Cullen beelines for Dorian's favorite little nook. Sure enough, his book is sitting on the small table in front of it and ha! - one of the pages is marked. So Dorian had been reading it. Cullen smirks to himself and scoops up his prize. Dorian will just have to find his own copy.

There's a small gasp from the nook, and Cullen looks in on reflex. His fingers tighten on the book and his breath stutters in his throat at what he sees.

The Inquisitor is sitting on the small window seat on the far wall. His head is tilted back and his mouth is open, panting. His legs are spread wide and Dorian is between them, head bobbing over his lap. The Inquisitor's hands are in his hair. Another soft gasp escapes him, and his hips twitch up.

Cullen's mouth goes dry. He tries to swallow and can't; feels like he can't breathe. He should go, he knows that, should leave them to it, but instead he watches, transfixed, as the Inquisitor cards his hands through Dorian's hair, as his hips move in short, stilted little jerks. It's obvious he's trying to be considerate, trying not to thrust in earnest, and as Dorian makes an encouraging noise Cullen suddenly pictures it, being on his knees before this impossible man, feeling him slide between his lips, wanting nothing more than to feel him lose control. He presses a hand against himself, feeling nearly dizzy with arousal, as the Inquisitor finally gives in, thrusting his hips up sharply as he tightens his hands in Dorian's hair.

"Yes," he whispers, "yes, there, yes." His body arches and his mouth opens in a soundless gasp, and he's the most beautiful thing that Cullen has ever seen in his life.

Then he slumps back, body lax. Dorian leans back, away; there are soft rustling noises as he busies himself with buttons and clasps. Cullen sinks farther into the shadows as he rises, afraid that he'll turn, afraid that the Inquisitor will look up and he'll be spotted. He needn't have worried. The two of them only have eyes for each other. The Inquisitor's hands cradle Dorian's face as he slides forward; their mouths meet in a sweet kiss, and that's when Cullen turns away, turned on and sick and sore in a place that the lyrium craving can't touch.

_You_ could _try using my name, he'd teased, a lifetime ago, standing just little too close, and Cullen had smiled and nodded, stepped away and kept using his title, ignoring the way that it had made his mouth turn down. Ignoring his own wish to be closer.  Every step had to be taken to discourage the flirtation. He'd been flattered, of course, that he should be thought of at all, but that had to be as far as it went. It could never go anywhere; would be doomed before it began. They were too different. It was the right thing to do, he'd told himself, and never mind the soft, pleased flutter he'd felt at the tentative interest. Never mind that it was the Inquisitor's face that Cullen's eyes sought whenever he entered a room. It didn't matter. It_ couldn't.

And now it never would.


End file.
